


A Place Where We Can Fly

by I_am_Eli



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Ableism, Absent Parents, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Small Town, Angst, Artistic Peter Parker, Asexual Peter Parker, Author is an atheist but I was raised by christian parents, BAMF Michelle Jones, Bad Parenting, Bittersweet Ending, Brief suicidal thoughts, Bullying, Character Death, Child Abandonment, Child Death, Child Neglect, Christianity, College, Depression, Drug Abuse, Drug Addiction, Drug Withdrawal, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Growing Up, Hurt/Comfort, I'll add more tags if I forget something, I'm Sorry Peter Parker, Imagination, Just to warn you, Lesbian Michelle Jones, Like, Male-Female Friendship, Michelle Jones Is a Good Bro, No Slash, No Smut, Past Car Accidents, Peter goes through a LOT in this fic, Platonic Relationships, Poverty, Racism, Religion, Sad Ending, Sorry Not Sorry, Still, This is probably gonna be a long one, Tony Owns a Corner Store, bad siblings, but - Freeform, but it gets sad a lot, but its there, dont say i didnt warn you, feel free to point out any mistakes, guys seriously, its got fluff, not a major thing, seriously if any of this triggers you don't read it, so like, somewhere between those two, suicide (not main characters), this... isn't a happy fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:55:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26871010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_am_Eli/pseuds/I_am_Eli
Summary: Peter Parker, undeniably, had a horrible life.And then he made his first friend.And his life was still horrible.But at least she made it better.
Relationships: Harley Keener & Peter Parker, Michelle Jones & Peter Parker, Michelle Jones & Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Kudos: 17





	1. The Relationship Between The Hallway Floor and Peter Parker's Face

Peter wasn’t sure when his life started to go downhill. 

It always seemed to happen gradually, without his notice, until it eventually blew up in his face. His life seemed to be dogged with pain and misfortune, poverty and illness. It seemed to be the only constant in young Peter Parker’s life. He had already seen more death than most saw in their entire lifetimes, and he was only a mere twelve years old. 

Right now, as he was pressed face-down on the cool tile of the school hallway, Flash Thompson’s boot digging into the skin of his back and his crutches nowhere in sight, he blamed The Accident. 

Said accident Peter had no memory of. Only the sound of tires shrieking that haunted his nightmares, and the chronic pain that plagued his right leg. 

Peter Parker had been using either crutches or wheelchairs for the past eight years. He’d had to re-learn how to walk two times, once in the physical therapy after the accident and once after it was discovered by the doctors that the way he was walking was doing more harm to his leg than good. As such, he’d had to adjust his stance and measure his steps, and, on the bad days, the pain was more excruciating than ever before, though his doctor always insisted that it was the only way to go about it. 

Ever since he’d first rolled into his Kindergarten class in a wheelchair - he’d since started using crutches, and only his old wheelchair when his leg was particularly painful - Flash had been making his life a living Hell. 

He bullied Peter mercilessly, tripped him up in the hallways more often than not, and had gotten the entire school - even the teacher’s, though it was mostly accidental on their part - calling him ‘Crutchie’. 

The worst thing was, the boy never seemed to get in trouble for it. He never faced the consequences of his actions. The teacher’s all turned a blind eye to the boy’s bullying. And why? Because Flash Thompson was the preacher’s son. 

The town Peter Parker lived in revolved around two things: God and football. In a town like Pine Valley, you had to like both. You stayed on the preacher’s good side if you knew what was good for you, and you went to every football game because if you didn’t, someone would notice you were gone, and then the gossip mill turns on you. 

Because of everyone’s need to stay on the preacher’s good side, no one messed with the preacher or any of his offspring which included one Flash Thompson who, in Peter’s humble opinion, was the reincarnate of the Devil himself. Sometimes, when Flash kicked him too hard, Peter could swear he saw horns in the boy’s styled hair.

“You gonna get up or are ya gonna keep laying there like a lazy hobo, Crutchie?” Flash asked, voice tilted and taunting. The boy knew Peter would not be able to get up. He had kicked his crutches away, so any attempt made on Peter’s part to stand would be futile anyway. 

“I just wanna get to my class, Thompson,” Peter said. He was still sprawled out on his stomach, his right leg laying out stiff and aching, but Flash was no longer digging his foot into his back, so he counted it as a win. 

“Have to get up first, Crutchie,” Flash said. The other boy had a shark-like grin on his face, brown eyes malicious. He was just starting to lift his foot up again when the bell rang, signalling the beginning of their classes. Flash pouted, clearly disappointed. “Looks like you got lucky this time, Parker,” Flash said, kicking his crutches toward him. “Next time, you might not be so lucky.” With that, the taller boy walked down the hall without a care in the world. 

Peter sighed and, after finally getting to his feet, headed to his first class of the day. It was science, taught by a strict, middle-aged woman named Ms. Kat. She was famous for her unforgiving punishments to children who broke the rules. Namely, children who were tardy and didn’t have a note from the office. And, because of the time it took Peter to stand and get his bearings, he was already five minutes late.

“Well, ain’t this day just gettin’ off to a great start,” Peter muttered bitterly, heading into the classroom.


	2. Pizza and Pink Hair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> we get introduced to our female main character!

There were spiders sketched all over Peter’s math assignment. Some of the spiders were crawling their way up buildings, others just hanging by silky strands of thread. Some were even drawn on a character’s shoulder - he hadn’t named the character, at least not yet, but Peter liked to call him Spider-Man.

Spider-Man wasn’t like Peter Parker. He didn’t live in a tiny town in the south. He lived in New York city, with a family that loved him and a city that adored him. He fought villains, stopped petty crime, saved cats from trees - he was a superhero. Peter liked to think of Spider-Man as his role model, even if he did create him in his own mind.

The math teacher rapped her ruler against the desk. 

“Class,” she said, voice monotone. Hardly anyone looked up. “We have a new student joining us today.” That caught people’s attention - Pine Valley didn’t  _ get _ new students. Hadn’t happened in years. Practically everyone had been here since they were infants - they would probably die here as well. It was just how it worked. “Why don’t you introduce yourself, dear?” the teacher said. Peter wasn’t sure why, but he could tell that his math teacher did not like the new student. 

And out stepped the new kid. And just like that, Peter’s life shifted.

The new girl was shorter than the average though still at least an inch taller than Peter. She had light brown skin and bushy hair that was pulled back into a ponytail. She was wearing paint-stained pants and a green jacket, under which she wore a gray shirt. On her feet she wore converse in a shade of yellow so bright Peter swore that if the lights were off they would glow in the dark. 

_ She’s pretty, for a girl,  _ Peter thought distantly. But the female species was disgusting so he banished the thought immediately. 

“Hi,” the girl said, voice strong and clear, if not a bit bored. “My name is Michelle Jones. I moved here from Queens, New York. Probably not going to stay here long so don’t bother interacting with me.” With that she hiked her bag up higher and plopped down on one of the first seats she saw, which was right in front of the teacher’s desk.

The class was quiet for a moment before the math teacher awkwardly went on with the lesson, and Peter went back to his drawings. Spiders. Right. 

Even as he continued to draw his spiders, his thoughts continued to wonder about the bushy-haired girl. Pine Valley wasn’t the most diverse place. It was quite conservative, and oppressed. And if people beat Peter up and made fun of him for having a bad leg, what would they do to Michelle Jones…?

_ Not your problem,  _ Peter reminded himself.  _ Just mind your own business, Parker.  _ Peter sighed, returning to his drawing, trying to push his concerns over MJ to the back of his mind.

`-`

“How was school, my little sunflower?” Rosa said from the living room. Rosa Ortega, MJ’s nanny, was a large, beautiful woman with bright pink hair and matching lipstick. She was sitting on the couch watching Netflix on their large, flat-screen TV, sipping on a bottle of Sprite. 

“Meh,” MJ said.

“Real articulate,” Rosa said, rolling her eyes. “Come sit down, tell me all about your day!” MJ sighed, but obliged her, sitting on the squishy sofa next to Rosa.

“It was… okay, I guess,” MJ said, shrugging.

“Learn anything new?” Rosa said, smiling. 

“Not really. They’re about a week behind on the curriculum from my last school,” MJ said. 

“That’s too bad,” Rosa said. “Well, did you make any friends? Or at least talk to someone?” MJ glanced away guiltily. “Michelle...”

“We’re not staying here very long anyway,” MJ said. “What would the point of making friends be?”

“New experiences!” Rosa said, poking MJ’s nose. 

“Is that all?”

“No need to be so pessimistic, Michelle!” Rosa said. “Making friends is such an important part of your life. I wish you’d see that.”

_ Why would I need friends when I have you?  _ MJ thought, though she didn’t say it out loud. Instead she said, “Okay, Rosa.”

“Well, what do you want for dinner?” Rosa asked. “The kitchen isn’t completely unpacked yet so I can’t cook anything, but we can always order takeout.”

“Pizza?” MJ suggested. 

“How did I know that’s what your answer was going to be?” Rosa said, already looking up the number of the nearest pizza place. After confirming that MJ wanted chicken and meatball, Rosa ordered the pizza, tossing her phone to the side and slumping back against the couch dramatically. “So,” she said. “Netflix marathon?”

The twelve-year-old nodded eagerly, and Rosa smiled, clicking on one of their favorites - The West Wing. 

They were about a quarter of the way through the episode when MJ said, quietly, “Rosa? When are Dad and Momma gonna come home?”

Rosa was quiet for a moment, her bubble-gum pink lips pressed into a thin line, before saying, “I do not know. You know, with your parents jobs-”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” MJ said. She wasn’t all that surprised. She wasn’t even that disappointed. Her parents disappeared for days at a time for their work - they had high, well-paying jobs in some fancy company - and, while it brought in more money than they could possibly ever spend and MJ lived her life comfortably, it would never replace actually getting to spend time with her parents.

“I’m so sorry, my sunflower,” Rosa said, and she sounded sorry too. 

_ It’s alright,  _ MJ thought.  _ I don’t need them. I have you. All I need is you. You care about me, and you spend time with me- all I need is you.  _

What she actually said was, “It’s alright,” before laying her head on Rosa’s shoulder, falling asleep before the pizza arrived.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment! Gimme your opinions! Please!


	3. Muddy Jeans and Older Brothers

The thing Peter Parker hated most about this town was not the school, or the teachers, or even Flash Thompson. 

It was the street leading up to his house.

Peter Parker had been born to Mary and Richard Parker, two twenty-somethings with dead end jobs and too many children. Peter was the youngest of four siblings, each of them within two years of the other.

Peter didn’t look like any of his other siblings. His older brothers were all big and athletic, with sharp features, wavy blonde hair and blue eyes. Like Richard.

Peter, on the other hand, looked nothing like his parents. Where his siblings had always been tall for their age, he was rather short. He wasn’t particularly athletic, partially because he had no opportunity for athletics thanks to his leg and partially because he just wasn’t built like that. He was short and skinny, almost alarmingly so. Where his brothers had sharp faces, Peter’s was rather rounded out, and while his brothers had wavy blonde locks and bright blue eyes, Peter had curly brown hair and soft brown eyes. His older brother, Harley, the only one who really seemed to care about him, liked to compare him to Bambi.

He and his brothers all rode on the same bus, his three oldest brothers making loud, lewd comments in the back and Harley sitting next to him closer to the middle of the bus. The bus would then drop them off on their street, a dirt road that seemed to be constantly muddy. Their house was half a mile down.

And walking down that consistently muddy dirt road,  _ especially _ with his crutches, was Hell. It was a long, drawn out torture full of slipping and sliding and his crutches constantly getting stuck under great clumps of mud.

It would take him at  _ least _ an hour to get to his house, covered in mud and slightly sweaty, while it took his brothers around twenty minutes - fifteen if they ran. 

At least he had Harley to walk with him. Small mercies. Even if it was clear that Harley grew tired of helping his brother dig his crutches out of the mud or help him stand every time he fell.

Harley was thirteen, a year older than Peter. A lot taller too. The boy practically towered over him. Even if Peter was slightly intimidated by his height at times, he was good company, and didn’t take any of their older brothers’ shit- especially when they were messing with Peter. 

But, Harley was turning fourteen soon. Which meant he would start working, to ‘earn his keep’ as his father liked to say. Long hours, probably cleaning and restocking the corner store. The owner was nice enough, a man in his late thirties that Peter stubbornly called Mr. Stark, despite the man’s pleas for him to call him Tony every time he visited the store -  _ “For Christ’s sake, kid, call me Tony, I’m begging you” -  _ and Peter knew that he wouldn’t make Harley work too much, so he didn’t have to worry about that. The only thing that bothered him was that he wouldn’t be able to spend time with his brother as much.

_ Stop being so selfish,  _ Peter thought to himself, in a voice that sounded shockingly similar to that of his oldest brother, Ryan. 

He would just have to deal.

“So,” Harley said conversationally, boots making suction sounds as he pulled them out of the mud. “How’s life lookin’ in the sixth grade hallway?”

“‘S alright,” Peter said, trying not to stumble. “Got a new student today. Name’s Michelle.” 

“That black girl?” Harley asked. Peter nodded. “You’re gonna wanna stay away from that one, Petey.” Peter frowned. 

“Why?” He hadn’t planned on making conversation with the girl anyway - he was perfectly fine with being lonely and friendless until he graduated,  _ thank you very much -  _ but Harley had never really told him to stay away from anyone before. Except for Wade Wilson, the crazy guy a few streets over. But saying that you should stay away from him was just stating the obvious.

“Bein’ ‘round her ain’t gonna bring you nothin’ but trouble,” Harley said gravely.

“Didn’t seem like a trouble maker to me,” Peter said.

“Ah, no,” Harley said hurriedly. “I’m sure she’s a lovely girl. I’m just lookin’ out for you, s’all. You know how this town is, and you got a big enough target on your back as is with that leg of yours” - Harley tapped one of his crutches with the toe of his shoe - “hangin’ out with that girl? May as well be a dead man.”

Peter nodded, not quite understanding but deciding to trust his brother’s words anyway. Harley  _ was _ usually right.

“Wasn’t gonna talk to her anyways,” Peter said. “You know how I get ‘round new people.” Harley nodded sympathetically. 

“Now, that don’t mean be mean to the girl-” Peter gave him a scandalized look. “Not that I think you’d be mean to anyone. Just… try and stay away from her, okay? Her bein’ seen with a cripple would probably be just as bad as you bein’ seen with her.”

Harley never was one to mince words.

But it was true. No one wanted to be seen with him - not even his own family, except for maybe Harley. No one wanted to look like they had anything to do with the town freak.

“Right,” Peter said, voice tinged with sadness.

“I shoulda said that better-” Harley said guiltily.

“Nah, it’s okay. Least you’re honest with me,” Peter said, smiling up at his brother. Harley smiled back, ruffling his hair adoringly. 

“Hey, hows ‘bout I give you a piggyback ride? We can get home quicker, be home in time to say hi to Daddy.” Peter nodded, and Harley knelt down, not caring about the mud that stained his jeans. Peter climbed on his back, careful not to drop his crutches. “You good back there?” Peter nodded. “Off we go, then.”

`-`

“We’re home!” Harley said, letting Peter slide down from his back. Their dad was sitting in his recliner, watching The Rifleman on their shitty old TV. He looked more tired than usual, exhaustion evident on his face, though he tried his best to cover it up when he saw Harley.

“Hey, Harls,” Richard said. He didn’t say anything to Peter. Peter expected as much. “Your Momma’s almost done with dinner, so y’all go wash up.” Peter and Harley nodded, rushing off to do just that, returning just in time for dinner to be plated.

Sausage, fried potatoes, red beans and cornbread. The cornbread was dry and the beans were cooked for too long, but food was food, and Peter knew better than to complain. 

They ate in silence, as they usually did, Richard and Mary eating in the living room in front of the TV. Harley sat next to Peter, separating him from Cody and Aaron, and Ryan sat on the farthest side of the table, across from Aaron. It was better that way. The boys tended to get nasty if they sat too close to Peter for too long. For whatever reason.

Peter finished his food first, standing to scrape what he couldn’t eat into a pie tin - the scraps would go to their dog, Killer, a pitbull who, despite his name, was really just a sweetheart - and rinsed his plate before going off to their shared bedroom. 

Their bedroom was cramped. It housed five beds - two bunk beds and one single that was pushed up against the far wall - with two dressers and one cluttered desk pressed in between them. There was barely enough room to stand, just one small aisle between the bunks, which ended at Peter’s bed, the single pressed against the far wall. Something that Ryan, Cody and Aaron always complained about, even though Peter thought their beds were cooler.

He spent the rest of the night doodling in a little journal he had hidden under his mattress. He drew Spider-Man, little cartoon characters in funny situations, pigs with wings driving motorcycles - best not to ask -, Spider-Man riding a dinosaur…

The journal was the reason he looked forward to coming home every night. Drawing away in his little notebook, that was his safe space, his reason for coming back to a house he was clearly unwelcome in. It made life tolerable - distracted him from the pain in his leg, gave him something to do when he was bored, or when he was angry, or scared, or  _ lost-  _

Sometimes he felt like he loved his notebook more than he loved his own father, loathe as he was to admit it. 

He fell asleep like that, face pressed against the notebook paper, pencil laying in the palm of his hand in a relaxed grip. It was Harley who hid the notebook and tucked him in when he went to bed that night.

He supposed Harley was a good enough reason to come home as well. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lot longer than the other chapters. Please comment and tell me what you think! What do you guys think of Peter's family?


	4. Contests and Sour Patch Kids

MJ wanted nothing more than her parents to come home and tell her that they were moving again.

She had been living in Pine Valley for four weeks, the longest time she had ever lived in one place since she was eight years old, and the town just seemed to be getting worse and worse.

Because MJ wasn’t like anyone else in town. She wasn’t white, or middle-class (yes, people made fun of her for being rich, she didn’t understand it either), or Christian. She was a certified genius but she didn’t show it off, she was a fast runner but she didn’t join the track team, and she didn’t talk in class much besides the occasional snide remark. No one knew what to do with her.

Except maybe Flash.

Flash had been tormenting her since the first day of school. At first it was just mean remarks. Then it was pushing her in the hall, blaming her for things she didn’t do, and making her life Hell at any opportunity he saw.

She had once heard someone call her the “next Peter Parker”. She didn’t know who Peter Parker was - she tried to pay as little attention to the kids in this school as possible - but if he was treated even a fourth as bad as Flash treated her, she felt sorry for him.

The only class that truly interested her was English. Mainly because of all the writing projects. It was always either short stories or essays, line after line of tiny print on notebook paper. And, while the English teacher seemed to like her about as much as the rest of the town did, she always gave her glowing reviews on her stories and told her where she could improve.

It was in October that she was assigned a project that permanently changed her life.

It was less something for a grade and more a contest. The English teacher and the Art teacher had teamed up to do it. The assignment was to pair up two students to make an interesting Halloween story, complete with illustration. Whoever had the most interesting story and the best artwork won two tickets for the movie theatre, a tin water bottle, and a box of sour patch kids. And MJ was determined to win.

The English teacher put everyone’s names in a giant ceramic bowl and picked two out of them randomly. Whoever you got would be your partner for the competition, no redraws. If you fought, you were disqualified. MJ hoped more than anything that she wouldn’t be paired with Flash Thompson. 

And she wasn’t paired with Flash Thompson. Flash was paired with a skinny, red-headed girl that always sat in the back of the classroom. So at least she didn’t have to worry about dealing with him.

She was among the final students to be drawn. And who was she drawn with but Peter Parker. Peter Parker who, she now realized, must be the skinny kid with the crutches who was always doodling on his assignments. 

Maybe he was good at drawing. 

MJ picked up her backpack and notebook and plopped down on the empty seat by Peter. The other twelve-year-old regarded her nervously. MJ rolled her eyes and tore a piece of notebook paper out of her notebook and got a pencil ready, before turning to the boy expectantly. 

“Well?” MJ said when he didn’t say anything. Peter blinked. “Do you have any ideas?”

“Um,” Peter said, fingers tapping away at his desk nervously. “I-I dunno. Um.”

“Got it,” MJ said, trying to keep from rolling her eyes again. She didn’t want this kid to dislike her if they were going to be partners for this contest. “I was thinking zombies. And lots of death. Or monsters.” Peter blinked again. “Can you draw?”

“Um,” Peter said, before hesitantly turning over a paper on his desk and showing her one of his creations. It was really good, she had to admit. It appeared to be someone in a skin-tight onesie, with a spider emblem on his chest, drawn in a sort of comic book style.

“Good enough,” MJ said. “Can you draw other stuff as good as you drew that? Like, people. Not spider dudes.”

Peter mumbled something quietly.

“What was that?” MJ asked.

“H-he’s called Spider-Man. Not Spider dude,” Peter said and  _ God,  _ this kid had to have one of the thickest accents MJ had ever heard. 

“Whatever.  _ Can _ you draw anything else though?” 

Peter nodded. “Can draw a decent buildin’,” Peter said. “And I can draw hair.”

MJ sighed. “Better than nothing.”

And so the two got to work, MJ drawing up a basic outline for a story and Peter deciding what the protagonist should look like, MJ can’t help but think the kid hadn’t given himself enough credit. His drawings were  _ really good _ , all of them drawn in the same comic-ey style. 

MJ’s head shot up.  _ Comics.  _

“Parker!” MJ said, turning to the boy. Peter jumped, pencil dragging against the paper and leaving a dark line over the drawing. Peter frowned, before turning to MJ.

“Yeah?”

“You’re pretty good at drawing, and all of your drawings are really good. Lets just make a comic!” Peter stared at her.

“Wasn’t the assignment to make a story-”

“Yes. To make a story. Comics  _ are _ stories. I’ll write up a script, and you can illustrate! It’ll be great!” MJ said. She was already deciding what movie she would watch at the theatre.

“I dunno...” Peter said. “What if I don't get ‘em done fast enough?”

“It’s not like it’s gonna be thirty pages long,” MJ said. “Page, page and a half at most. Besides, we’ve got two weeks to finish this. It’ll be fine.” Peter didn’t look convinced, but he nodded anyway.

MJ looked at the clock, and saw that there was only five minutes left of class. The classes were far too short if they wanted to get this done in time, along with their other English assignments.

“Here’s what we’re going to do,” MJ said. “You come over to my house and we’ll work on the assignment there. And we can just continue to do that until we get it done.”

“Um-”

“Unless you’re busy?” Peter shook his head. “I get it if you’re not comfortable going to my house, but we really don’t have enough time to do it during the school day. We could do it at the library, or your house if that-”

“No!” Peter said, cutting her off. “Uh, no. Your house. That works.” MJ nodded, and at that moment the bell rang. MJ gathered her stuff, slinging her backpack over one shoulder and heading toward the door. 

“See you later, loser!” she called. 


End file.
